


Hello, My Name is Human

by diazkazmir



Category: DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Brief Discussion of War Violence and Death, M/M, Porn With Plot, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Rimming, Veteran Support Group
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-30 00:33:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15740481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diazkazmir/pseuds/diazkazmir
Summary: Dick and Jason are veterans in the same combat veteran support group.  They're also sleeping together.  Unsurprisingly, things aren't that simple.





	Hello, My Name is Human

**Author's Note:**

> **WARNING:** Brief discussions of graphic war violence and death, permanent war injury, brief use of excessive alcohol consumption as a coping mechanism, poorly treated PTSD, and _terrible_ fucking sentence structure.
> 
> This is my first time writing smut. I'll even admit I just wrote this for the practice, although I'm considering fleshing out this basic premise a bit in the future. 
> 
> It hasn't been beta-read, so please inform me if something looks off. 
> 
> Finally, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated.
> 
> _____________________________________________________________________________________________

_Don’t fuck people from group_ , someone told him once.

Terrible advice, Dick thinks now.

Thinks it as Jason sucks the tip of his cock into his mouth, tongue hot and wet on his slit, jerks his shaft with one callused hand and rolls his swollen balls gently with the other.

Thinks it as he grabs at Jason’s hips and pulls his body up his chest, kneads his hands into the firm muscle of Jason’s exposed ass, works a slick finger past the tight pucker of his hole, curls it _just right_.

Jason’s mouth slides from his cock, body jerking ever so slightly. “Fuck yeah,” he says, strained and rough, first words he’s said all night.

“Yeah?” Dick says. He works another finger in beside the first, watches suck into Jason’s body like he’s fucking made for it, thrills at the sight of Jason’s back curl and arch and curl again. Almost startles when his cock gets swallowed back down to the root. 

Dick hooks a hand around the top of Jason’s knee and pulls outward, spreads him out further. Jason’s cock hangs red and heavy between his legs, drags on Dick’s flushed chest and leaves trails of glistening precome down his abdomen. It’s fucking obscene. It’s the hottest thing Dick’s ever seen.

He pumps his fingers good and slow, brushes past that nubby gland every few passes, knows he hit it when Jason’s asshole tightens, when the defined muscles in his thighs quiver, when the suction around his cock goes slack then strong, harder than he’s ever felt.

“Think you can take another?” Dick asks.

A hum around his cock and those fingers playing at his balls skirt down his taint tell him what he needs to know. Dick fumbles for the bottle at his side, coats his hand up and fucks three in. Jason shudders, a vibration of sound Dick feels in the head of his cock.

Jason pulls off again, breathes hot and quick and says, “Fuck my mouth. You can fuck my mouth, okay.”

“Yeah. But you gotta fuck yourself on my fingers,” Dick counters.

Jason laughs. “Yeah, okay.”

And fuck, does he. Meets the snap of Dick’s hips and takes him all the way down, past the back of his throat, his fingers digging into the hard flesh of Dick’s shaking thighs. 

The heat building in Dick’s belly coils tighter and tighter, toes curling in the damp sheets, and he’s spilling into that silken mouth. And then he comes with grit teeth, eyes slammed shut against an explosion of white light.

He comes back online quick, to the feeling of cold air biting at his wet shaft. Not very pleasant, but a blanket gets thrown over his hips and there’s pressure on his legs as Jason leverages himself up and then back down onto his fingers.

Dick’s body feels warm and sated, but he turns his wrist and thrusts them in and out, marveling lazily at the way Jason takes it so good, a spike of arousal thrumming through his spent body as he realizes Jason’s working at his own cock.

He wishes he could see his face, flushed across those lightly freckled cheeks. Eyes closed, maybe a deep furrow between his brows. Teeth biting into his lower lip. Dick wishes he could ask him to turn around, so he could take it all in. But he knows he can’t, that that’s not what this is. So he runs his free hand up the man’s flank and just says, “Come.”

And Jason comes, muscles contracting around Dick’s fingers so tight. And god, how that’s gonna feel around his cock someday. Dick works him through it, little half thrusts in and out until Jason pulls up and away.

“Yeah,” Jason says, wiping his come-streaked hand on the sheets. He swings his body around a bit, face finally – _finally_ – back into view. And Dick, Dick’s not even going to pretend that it’s not a sight to fucking behold. 

Dark, wet curls falling over his forehead, Jason’s face is pink, lower lip cherry red and swollen where he’s maybe bitten it after all. A deep and splotchy flush has spread from his throat to his chest, his abs are splattered with long stripes of come, shining with sweat.

Dick comes up on his elbows, breath frozen in his lungs.

Because he has never wanted to kiss somebody more than in this moment, even as Jason turns his gaze away, even as he pulls on his clothes and fastens his prosthetic back into place, even as he stops before the doorway, eyes fixed into some middle space over Dick’s head and says, “See you at group.”

The door shuts behind him with a soft click and Dick falls back into the sheets, stinking of sweat and slick and sex. He stares the ceiling, up to see the moonlight fade to an early morning purple. When the first tendrils of sun flood the room, he throws an arm across his eyes and tries his best to sleep.

 

*

 

The first time Dick went to group, he’d pictured it like the movies.

Late at night, a semi-circle of fold-out chairs set up on the half-court line of a dingy community center basketball court, an old coffeepot and some stale donuts piled on a rickety card table. Maybe there’s a cardigan-clad group leader gently urging a motley crew of blank-eyed, slack-jawed vets into talking about the worst days and hours of their lives.

It's not like the movies.

Turns out, it’s the rec room of the VFW. Plush, worn couches line the walls under flat-screen televisions on mute, broadcasting everything from baseball to business to Bravo. In the kitchenette, a wide array of sweets and treats and coffees and teas are there for the taking. A huge wall of windows lets in the mid-afternoon light, sliding doors open to the lanai for all the smokers.

The group leader doesn’t even wear cardigans.

Still, all the comfort in the world doesn’t make it easier to talk. It’s an even split – those that talk and those that don’t. Most days, Jason doesn’t. Dick’s somewhere in between. Sometimes the words come easy and sometimes they don’t.

Today is a day he just fiddles with his keys, stares down at his bootlaces as the only other Marine in the room talks about the time she watched her friend’s head crack open like a watermelon under the force of a sniper round in Kandahar. Bites the inside of his lip bloody when the Marine’s husband – a rotary crew chief – explains why alcohol isn’t really the answer, why it won’t make the memories of a million bad missions fade.

Today is a day the words don’t come easy.

 

*

 

They don’t make it to the bed this time.

They barely make it through the front door.

Dick’s keys clatter to the floor as Jason shoves him up against the kitchen counter, the granite lip digging into his spine. He just looks then, blue-green eyes flitting over his face in short, sharp movements. Dick feels fire furl in his belly under the force of his stare, feels like a butterfly pinned up under glass.

Jason steps into his space then, arms brace on the counter on either side of his body. Close, but not quite touching. Dick can smell the leather of his jacket, the spice of his cheap aftershave, a hint of sour coffee and dinner mints on his breath.

He wants to reach out, grasp him by the front of his shirt, bring Jason’s mouth up to his. Imagines the slow, slick slide of their lips, the heat of Jason’s tongue against his. He fucking aches for it now, looking down at that plump, red mouth, those cocksucking lips.

“Let me fuck you,” Jason says, almost posed as a question.

_Only if you’ll kiss me._

“Yeah,” he says instead. “Fuck yes.”

He curls a bruising grip around Dick’s hip and flips him around, quick enough to take Dick’s breath away. A hand pushes at the center of his back, down and down until Dick’s front is pressed up against the cold granite. He turns his head to the side, watching as Jason strips himself of his jacket, letting it fall to the floor and kicking it away.

Cock filling, Dick works a hand down, pops the button on his jeans and starts to push them down, jerking a bit when Jason pushes his hands away. Flinches when the jeans are pulled down roughly, exposing his skin to the cool conditioned air. 

A foot kicks his legs out further, fingers digging into the muscle of his ass and spreading. A rustle of clothing and then Jason’s on his knees, and then Jason’s tongue right there, right on his asshole.

Dick startles, his bare and hardening cock banging up against the cupboard. “Fucking fuck, warn a fucking guy,” he snaps.

“Sorry,” Jason says and pulls away, breath hot at the cleft of Dick’s ass. 

Dick twists back and glares. “Well, don’t stop now.”

There’s a tilt to Jason’s lips and an arch to his brow, and Dick turns his face back into his forearm, biting something like a smile into his skin. 

He’s never got his ass eaten out, wonders if Jason can tell. Maybe by the way he ruts against the counter when Jason’s lavs the flat of his tongue over the pucker of his hole, over and over and then blowing it cool every few passes. Maybe by the way he cries out when that tongue dips just past the tight ring of muscle, just a brush of intrusion enough to send his stomach swooping.

Jason’s not quiet, purrs and suckles and slurps, letting out a breathy laugh when he tries to spread his legs out further, stopped only by the jeans twisted up at his ankles, when Dick sighs at the feeling of a couple fingers slipping in beside that tongue, grazing up against that bundle of nerves inside him.

“That,” Dick says.

“Yeah?” Jason says, into the cleft of his ass. “You ready for my cock?”

“Yeah.”

Cool air rolls over his spit-drenched flesh and Jason hums. “Not yet. Almost.”

Dick groans, fucks back into fingers Jason must have slicked with lube, sinking down on them with an embarrassing squelch. He doesn’t even care. His body’s begging to be fucked, snapping like a live wire, hard and heavy cock leaking untouched. Another finger slips in, curling up and stroking at those nerves on every pass, mercilessly thrusting. 

“If you could see this,” Jason says, “the way your body opens up so good for me.”

He keens then, as Jason splays a hand on his lower back and pounds those thick fingers into him, again and again. His breath hitches at the feeling of teeth biting into the flesh of his ass, tongue soothing the welting flesh.

“Let go, baby,” Jason says.

And Dick does, orgasm ripping through him like wildfire burning through brush. His come spatters across the counter as he raises up on his palms, cock untouched. The world tilts on its axis, shadows in his periphery, and he remembers to breathe, sucks in a ragged breath and then another, suddenly feeling the pounding of his heart deep in his throat.

Dick turns, hand slipping in his seed, has to bite back a cry at the sight at his feet.

Jason is sat back on his heels, pants open and cock out. His slick fingers are working his shaft, down and up and over the flushed head, leanly muscled arm flexing with his steady rhythm. That silky black hair is falling over his closed eyes, strands catching in the light as he tilts his head up.

“Christ,” Dick says, voice like gravel.

Jason sucks in a lip and smiles, leans back even further, body tight and curved. With a shaking hand, Dick reaches out, runs tacky fingers through his hair. A muted thrill shoots through him Jason gasps and turns into his palm, shuddering as Dick’s blunt nails scrub across his scalp.

He’s beautiful like this, on his knees, rolling into his own hand so wantonly, so shamelessly. He comes in his hand with a bitten back gasp and a shiver that wracks through him, pants hot and wet breaths against Dick’s bare leg.

“So fucking beautiful,” Dick says, and for a fleeting second, feels swollen lips ghosting across his skin like a kiss.

 

*

 

Today is a day Jason talks.

He does so, so rarely, that you could hear a pin drop in that big, bright, open room.

Jason talks about the pressure cooker bomb in the warehouse in Mosul. He talks about the third man in his team tripping the wire, the nuts and bolts ripping through his battle buddy’s body before ripping through Jason’s leg. He talks about trying so hard not to scream, that he did so good until he saw his foot was gone, nothing left but flayed flesh and bone and tissue.

Jason talks about the hours that followed, spent in a morphine haze, waiting for casevac. He talks about the flight out, that the bird was so crowded he spent it laying on top of the cadaver bag stuffed to the zipper with pieces of his friend, that the crew chief said he was so medicated he wouldn’t remember anyway. But Jason remembers, says he’s remembered it every night since.

No one likes it the days Jason talks.

 

*

 

After, Dick catches Jason in the kitchen.

“How about a real drink?” Dick asks.

Jason pauses for a moment, then pulls his cup back from the Keurig. “Yeah, alright.”

 

*

 

Dick’s not a drinker.

Turns out, neither is Jason.

Dick nurses a beer while Jason runs through shots of cheap whiskey like water, one after the other. It’s kind of a cop bar, but it’s the middle of the day, so Dick feels safe watching Jason’s lips purse at the rim of the shot glass, throat bobbing as he swallows the liquor down smooth. His mouth is wet from the booze, from where he runs his tongue across his lips.

He watches Jason’s eyes flutter closed, lashes fanning across his cheeks as he sets the glass down. Dick expects to feel heat – desire or arousal or something – but he doesn’t. He just feels tired and sad.

“’m gonna be sick,” Jason states.

“Alright,” Dick says, slaps a couple twenties down on the scrubbed wood bar. 

Jason lets Dick lead him out back by the elbow, listing a little into him, into the doorway. Then he vomits into the trash piled up by the dumpster, and Dick holds him steady as he pisses on the brick wall.

“Will you take me home?” Jason asks, wiping at his mouth but missing entirely.

And Dick does. He takes him back to Jason’s sad, little apartment in Crime Alley, the one with big windows and nothing really in it but a bed and a box spring and a chair. 

Boneless, Jason flops down on the mattress, waving a hand at his prosthetic. Drools into his pillow, “Can you – ”

“I can,” Dick says.

With quick fingers, he unbuttons and unzips Jason’s jeans, urges his hips up to slide them down. He unbuckles the straps securing the prosthetic to his calve high up and slips the thing off entirely. 

Jason curls up and flops a hand down past his knee, drunk-sloppy fingers twitching to rub at the stump. Dick considers, then rests his hand over Jason’s clammy one. “Let me,” he says, and holds a breath.

Novels could be written in the silence that follows, so long Dick wonders if the man’s fallen asleep. But Jason’s glassy eyes are open, fixed on the hand Dick’s got on his. He stares and then nods a bit, falls back onto the sheets.

It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before – the deep scarring, discolored flesh, the pockmarks and surgery lines – but it’s the first time he’s purposefully touched it, not just an accidental brush while fucking. 

He works over the uneven flesh methodically, using firm pressure but not too hard. His fingers leave white marks that fade as he digs into his knotted muscle. The shadows get long and his knees start to ache, hands cramping, by the time he notices Jason’s asleep, face streaked with tears atop his damp pillow.

 

*

 

Before Dick leaves, he thinks about programming his number into Jason’s phone.

He finds an old receipt instead and scrawls his number onto the back of it for Jason to find.

 

*

 

Two texts are waiting for him the next morning:

sorry

see u at group

 

*

 

So the thing about Dick is there are things he’ll talk about and there are things that he won’t.

He’ll talk about how much he misses the Corps, how much he misses the friends he made and the structure he got, the discipline he gained, the intestinal fortitude he forged over the years in the service.

He’ll talk about the awesome volunteer program his case worker recommended him for, about the classes he enrolled in at the community college, about the interview last week he thinks went well.

He won’t talk about the way he can still feel that .50 cal kicking in his palms as he pumped rounds into a pick-up truck full of fighters on a street in Kandahar. He won’t talk about the way he watched the driver fall from his seat and bleed out on the pavement as their doc stood by and smoked and laughed.

He won’t talk about how everyone but the butler and the kid have turned their backs on him for breaking _that rule_ , no matter the circumstance. He won’t talk about the first few months he spent back waking up screaming, drenched in sweat and piss, reaching for an M4 he no longer had.

See, the thing about Dick is no one likes it when he talks either, because he’s been coming to these fucking meetings for fourteen months now and still, the truth won’t come out.

 

*

 

The kitchen, again.

“Come home with me,” Jason says.

“Alright,” Dick answers and lets his cup fall into the sink. Jason’s fingers are warm on his wrist, pressing into his pulse point, and stay there as they walk out to the lot.

 

*

 

 _Don’t fuck people from group_ , someone told him once.

Because it’ll end up like this, Dick thinks.

Jason’s splayed out on the sheets, abs bunched and a knuckle between his teeth, his other arm shoved beneath his pillow. His cock’s a hard curve resting on his belly, weeping precome and glistening, balls heavy and swollen. His hole shines, gaping a bit where Dick had worked him over good with slick, opening him up for his cock.

With those knees pulled up high and wide, he looks fucking sinful, even by the pale moonlight streaming in through the dusty windows. Dick lubes himself up and settles between Jason’s thighs. “You ready?” he asks.

“Let’s get this over with,” Jason sighs, but there’s a wicked sort of grin creeping across his features, one that Dick’s never seen before, one that makes his heart quicken in his chest.

Dick lines up and pushes in, head of his cock popping past the tight ring of muscle with a quiet suck. He rocks forward in shallow thrusts until he’s bottomed out and their bodies are flush. And god, he’s so tight. It’s so fucking tight. 

There’s a slight intake of breath and Dick drags his gaze up, sees Jason run a hand down his own throat then reach out. He lets himself fall, bracketing his arms on either side of Jason’s chest, as legs cross his back and Jason’s arms encircle him.

Their bodies are sticky already, feverishly hot and Dick can feel Jason’s chest heave, can feel fingers running through the short hairs at his nape as he starts to move. He turns his head in, nosing at the smooth skin beneath the other man’s jaw, musky with sweat and cologne. Jason shifts and those blue-green eyes come into to sharp focus, inches away from his own.

Close enough to see the flecks of gold in his irises, the splotches of deep red in his lips where he’s bitten at them, the smattering of freckles under a light pink flush.

“Good?” Dick asks.

“Good,” Jason says and kisses him.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from _My Name is Human_ by Highly Suspect. [(youtube)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l5-gja10qkw)


End file.
